The Wind Blows Strong, and Still the Grass Grows
by Hessa
Summary: Having lost her family at the hands of the Uruk Hai, a young midwife travels to Edoras to start again.There, she meets the Third Marshall of the Mark and tries to grapple with the implications of their meeting, as the shadow looms ever closer.
1. Chapter I

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters, and do not profit from the writing of this story.**

**This is my first and modest attempt at a Lord of the Rings fic, and I can assure you that I proceed with trepidation. The idea for this story came to me some weeks ago, and its constant presence in the back of my mind has forced me to finally put it down into words.**

**Strictly speaking, the story is non-canon, in that Lothiriel, Tolkien's intended partner for Éomer, does not feature here. I do not wish to offend anyone who prefers for fics to remain in line with Tolkien's intentions, as I also have tremendous respect for the phenomenal work he created. However, the female character in my story took such a hold in my mind that I had to give her precedence.**

**The names given to secondary characters are of Germanic origin, while the name of my feature character, Mila, is of Slavic origin. This is intentional, as she is of slightly different ancestry than the Rohirrim, even though she was born and raised in the land of the Mark.**

**The timeline begins just before Éomer and Theodred set off for the battle that ultimately leads to Theodred's death. It will continue on from there. **

**In any case, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing it!**

**Hessa**

**The Wind Blows Strong, and still the Grass Grows**

A deep, dark night had settled itself over the land of the Mark and in its uncompromising fashion, had attempted to leave the city of Edoras without light. Thankfully, the moon was visible through the thin clouds so that a pale, ghostly light gave some respite.

Welcome as it was, such an abundance of light at the crepuscule was scarce these days. Indeed, with the passing of each day it seemed that the threat of a looming shadow edged ever closer within the land. The nights had, of late, become more and more an embodiment of that shadow.

A baby's wail suddenly brought Mila from her momentary, if distracted, repose. She had been taking advantage of the moon's presence to gaze into the mountainous horizon. They were treacherous those mountains, for their beauty and grandeur tricked the mind into believing their heights were somehow attainable.

Leaning against the doorjamb of the stone dwelling, Mila continued to wipe her hands with the warm, wet cloth she held. The night was not so cold as to require a number of layers beneath her cloak, but not yet so warm as to travel the nights in only a work dress and smock.

"One never tires of that sound, hm?" said a voice from close behind her. Turning a bit to see who it was, Mila smiled

"Indeed not. Though I suspect our young mother might suffer her nights to it at first" she answered, making the elderly woman laugh, a deep resounding sound in the night's stillness.

"Too right, lass! I still remember my own sleepless nights, holding my babes in my arms. I thought I'd never sleep again" she said, shaking her head in mirth.

"Still, their cries tell us that they live and are well. You did well tonight lass, and I thank you. My daughter-in-law was wrought with nerves before you came. You've truly been blessed in your touch, as have we in your presence within the land" the woman said gently.

"No thanks are needed. It was my honor…grandmother" Mila said, feeling the woman's happiness in her voice.

Smiling at the term, the woman placed her hand on Mila's shoulder and squeezed gently before returning to her son, daughter-in-law and newborn grandson.

It had been as straightforward a birth as one could hope for. Still, it was the young woman's first and her fear was evident when Mila had arrived, midwife's kit in hand. Her travail had advanced rapidly, and within a few short hours, her son had joined the world, albeit screaming.

Mila had arrived in Edoras only a year ago, but it had taken only a few births and already many began seeking her out when their time came. Even though the times were dark, there were still children to bring into Arda.

Sighing, Mila went back inside to check on her patient. The mother was sleeping, having finally succumbed to her fatigue. The new father and his mother were so engrossed in the child that they almost did not hear her enter.

After assuring them that she would return the following to look in on the now sleeping mother and fending off the young father's many exclamations of thanks and praise, Mila made her way through the streets to return to the cottage where she resided, which was more isolated than the other homes. Although she had, protested the young father had thrust cloth made of the finest Rohirric wool into her hands. Fingering its beautiful texture, Mila allowed herself a small smile.

She had not much cause for such lightness of heart in the past months, but she was thankful for each birth that she attended. Perhaps it was a foolish thought, but each new life she brought into the world helped to staunch her pain, if only for a little while.

These were indeed dark times, and no one knew that better than Mila.

She had never seen an orc, nor known of their appearance before a year ago. However, when she had returned from her journey to a nearby lake to gather reeds and saw the foul, reeking creatures setting her village in flames, she knew them for what they were.

She stood there for so long, frozen to the ground, knowing that she could not surge forth and look for her family as she so longed to do. They would kill her and what good would she be to them then?

Dimly, she wondered why she had not been spotted, and it was only after they had left, after the carnage, that she had realized she was standing in the tall grass.

The creatures had set fire to every building and home, surrounding her in suffocating smoke. She cared not. Her face covered in soot and ash, she ran to her own home and to the homes of her brothers, searching in vain for a way past the flames and into their fiery tombs.

Gone. They were all of them lost, as dust to the earth. Her heart went with them.

* * *

Having awoken later than she normally did, Mila hurriedly dressed to welcome the new day. Having quickly glanced out the high window that lit her quarters, she could discern clouds and a grey horizon. So it would be one of those days…

Walking down the steps from her quarters and into the main room, Mila hastily ran her fingers through her dark, russet locks but stopped when she saw the goings on at the hearth. Suppressing a groan, she let the guilt wash over her. She had promised to help Bearnas with the laundering, a heavy tiresome job, but had slept through the early morning.

Upon her unexpected arrival in Edoras all those months ago, Mila had suddenly found herself with the additional worry of shelter. She had traveled with a group of people who had seen their village suffer much the same fate, but they all seemed to know someone in Edoras or have connections that could help with the procurement of lodgings. She had no such advantages, as her village had been on the far east border of Rohan in east Emnet and not far from where the Entwash flowed deep. She had never traveled to Edoras, nor anywhere that far west.

She'd been in the market, wondering how she would find food and rest, when Bearnas approached her. She took her in wordlessly, shaking her head as she held Mila's chin and looked into her tired face.

At first, Bearnas and her husband Eanraig, who was craftsman dealing in woodwork, told her she could stay with them as long as she wished if she agreed to help them with the daily chores, both in the cottage and in Eanraig's workroom. She did this gladly of course, happy that these benevolent people had accepted her into their home.

One night, as she passed The Stag's Head, the local inn and alehouse, she heard the unmistakable sounds of a woman in travail. Upon hearing the strain in the woman's voice as she screamed, Mila surmised that she had likely been at it for some time, indicating a possible difficulty. Ignoring the instinct that pulled at her to help was like a Rohirrim warrior ignoring the call to arms. A duty, no matter the nature, is difficult to disregard.

The woman in question, Mila would later learn, was a whore who worked in the rooms above the alehouse. There were a few other girls in the room with her, but aside from that, there was no midwife or healer.

Mila ensured that she was safely delivered and from that night on, she began being called upon more often. At first, it was only the women form the alehouse who sought her services. Eventually, the word spread and she began attending births quite regularly.

Though she never asked for payment, the new mothers or their family often insisted she take something for the service she had rendered them; foodstuffs, fine woven baskets, coin and pretty trinkets. She protested quite a bit at first, being unused to the custom. But eventually, she gave in, realizing that they would simply not be deterred.

And so Bearnas and Eanraig suddenly found themselves with an added source of income, something they had not anticipated nor required. They welcomed it however, as they were very proud to have such a talented woman in their household. They had grown accustomed to Mila's presence in their home and cared for her a great deal. Having never been blessed with children, they saw her as one of their own, even though she had already seen near to twenty five winters.

"Oh, Bearnas! Forgive me, I should have awoken sooner!" Mila said, feeling wretched.

Bearnas, using a wooden rod, was pushing the laundry down into the cauldron of hot water, which now rested on the stone of the hearth.

"Nonsense child! I heard the ruckus young Arnulf made, pounding on the door to tell you his babe was on the way. You needed your rest" she answered, pulling the sleeves of her dress higher.

"Still, let me help you bring it outside. I won't have you hang it to dry alone"

Together, they set to task of doing just that, both hoping the weather would stay dry for the day. Edoras, being on mountainous land and surrounded by a vast steppe, was always susceptible to wind, no matter the day. Though it sometimes made one irritable, especially when it blew one's hair into one's face all day, it also aided in the task of drying laundry.

"Had they decided on a name?" Bearnas asked.

"Nay, not yet, though they hoped to name it for her uncle. He was a Rider, though he fell in a raid in the Eastfold"

"Hmm" was all Bearnas answered. So much death and destruction had befallen on their people of late. She refused to think of the world such a child might be forced to grow face.

They were suddenly distracted in their work by the Éored that had just passed the gate into the city. Since the cottage was nearer to the lower levels of the rise, the path that led from the gate to the high hall of Meduseld passed just near their small lot of land.

The Riders of the Mark, when assembled in such a manner, were a fearsome sight to behold. Sitting proudly on their mounts and sporting the colors of Rohan, they exuded power and might.

Stopping to look, Mila could easily discern two riders at the front of the group whose armor distinguished them from the others. Théodred, the Kings only son and Second Marshal of the Riddermark, rode slightly ahead of the group. Next to him of course, was Éomer Éadig, nephew to the King and Third Marshal of the Mark.

It was only upon her arrival in Edoras that Mila first saw either of these men, though she had of course heard tell of them in her home village. Stories of fierce battle and brutal attacks, all of which, Mila often surmised, must have seen a great deal of embellishment. However, as she took in the vision of these men riding in full armor, she felt less certain.

She'd noticed him long ago, of course. It was hard not to, with a stance such as his. Perhaps it was his inherent nature, or perhaps his duty simply required it of him, but she perceived such calmness about him, a stoic temperament, which of course set off her curiosity.

She'd never formally met nor spoken to him-why would she? - and she suspected he had no knowledge of her existence. But being an observant person, Mila often found herself studying him from afar, wondering how he fared. The only family left to him was his beautiful sister Éowyn, though their easy and loving relationship was evident to all who saw them together.

As she saw the last of their riders take the turn that led to the Golden Hall, Mila's sigh brought her back to the task at hand.


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

Having greeted the King as he always did, Éomer had retired from the hall, leaving Theodred to talk with his father. He had no desire to remain there, these days. Seeing his uncle and King in his current state left him in a state of anger and confusion. He was no fool; he knew that his uncle's withering state was Wormtongue's doing. But what was to be done? This was dark and powerful magic at work, the likes of which Rohan had not seen.

Worst was the pain it caused to his beloved cousin Theodred. To see his father thus, once a strong and capable king and warrior, tore at his heart.

"I've unsaddled F-firefoot, my lord. I've not y-yet attended to the rest of his care, for I know how y-you prefer to do it yourself" said the young stable lad, whose speech had been afflicted with a stutter since he was a babe.

"I thank you, young Gamel" Éomer said, ruffling the boy's hair as he passed. He'd always had a soft spot for the lad, and when he had asked to look after his horse a few years prior, he thought the lad would fall over with eagerness. Subject to ridicule for his speech, Éomer knew the lad always preferred the stables to the fields, so as to avoid the taunting of his peers. Éomer himself had acted in much the same manner in his youth, preferring the company of horses to that of the young boys.

So lost in attending to his horse, he did not notice his sister's presence when she appeared sometime later.

"I was looking for you. I brought some food to your quarters" she said, stroking his horse along one strong flank.

"Hm. I'm not hungry"

At this, she peered at him over the horse, one brow raised.

"My brother, not hungry? I never thought I'd see the day" Eowyn said, with a smile.

Éomer, knowing his sister as he did, was not fooled. Though she tried to jest, he saw how the smile did not quite reach her eyes. Her blue eyes had lost their clarity and had yielded to the sorrow and worry that afflicted her more and more everyday.

And Eowyn, knowing her brother as she did, dropped her façade with a sigh.

"Theodred said the Orc raiders grow bolder everyday" she said, looking to him for more.

"They do. They move as though unafraid of retaliation, as though some power grants them certainty of success" he said, running a hand over his eyes.

"So many come to Edoras, seeking shelter. We cannot sustain it, the city is already overcrowded" Eowyn said, the despair evident in her voice.

"I have no answer for you, Eowyn. The king would have us do nothing and as it is, Theodred's every effort at remedying the problems that afflict our land is thwarted by Wormtongue's command" he said, weary of it all. His lands were slipping into darkness, and here he was, helpless and without recourse. It filled him with self-loathing.

"Come away brother, you are so tired that I see you sway where you stand. You must rest" she said gently.

Knowing how persistent she could be, he let her lead him away. Rest was unlikely, with such thoughts roaming his mind, but he knew it eased Eowyn's mind, so he did not protest.

* * *

Having seen to his men and talked with Theodred over his supper, Éomer went in search of Thorsen, Edoras' resident healer. His forearm sported a gash from their recent encounter with Orcs, and though the wound was not deep, the herbal paste he had applied after the battle had been more or less efficient. He hoped Thorsen could provide him with something a bit stronger.

"I'm that sorry, my lord, but I've no stock of wormwood left. I sent my aides out for more, but they barely found enough for your men. I could give you a hyssop infusion, but I'm afraid it leaves one rather drowsy, and I know you need your wits about you" Thorsen said, apologetically.

"Hmmm, no, that won't do"

"You might try the midwife, my lord"

"The midwife?" he said, somewhat startled.

The healer nodded, "Yes, my lord. I've met her, she's quite talented. I've sent a few patients her way, when I could take no more. With her line of work, I know she has a few pain remedies that might be of interest to you"

He had heard talk of her, of course. From what he had gathered, she was one of the newly arrived inhabitants, forced to leave her village as a result of an attack. Rumors had circulated, of her being foreign and suspect some even went as far as calling her witch. However, as Eowyn had once mentioned, many women also called upon her, and she had gained a good deal of respect as a midwife.

"Shall I have word sent to her, my lord?" Thorsen asked.

"Nay, nay, no need. Can you tell me where to find her?" he asked.

"Indeed milord. She lives on the northern ledge, in the woodworker's home"

Thanking him, Éomer left the healing rooms in search of the mysterious midwife, hoping she was not suffering from similar shortages.

* * *

Mila sat with Bearnas as they mended undershirts near the hearth, a roaring fire giving of warmth and light to the rest of the main room. Eanraig sat at his desk, working on his plans for one if his most recent commissions, sliding in a comment now and then as he listened to the two women talk.

"I tell you, I've never seen the Hall so cold and quiet. A truly sad state" Eanraig told them, shaking his head. He had spent most of the afternoon trying to fix some water damage in one of the alcoves at Meduseld.

"Did you see the king at all?" Bearnas asked.

"Nay, the place was practically deserted"

"Oh Mila, how I wish you could have seen Meduseld in its full splendor. It was the most beautiful sight to behold, so regal and noble" Bearnas said, her voice filled with nostalgic longing.

"I would have loved to see it" Mila answered softly. She would have loved seeing it in the company of her brothers. They would have adored the architecture and view from the top of Edoras. She focused hard on the needle and thread she passed through the cloth, blinking furiously so as to stem the tears that were sure to come. They always did when she thought of her brothers.

As it was, a knock at the door forced her mind from her sad thoughts.

Eanraig stood to open the door, mumbling something under his breath about the late hour. His exclamation of surprise made the two women look up from their work.

"My lord Éomer? Is there something I can help you with?" he said, trying to recover his wits.

Upon hearing the name, Mila and Bearnas looked at each other with similar expressions. Bearnas began furiously arranging the wrinkles from her bodice, which made Mila smile a little.

"I hope so. I was told a midwife resided here and I was hoping she could lend me her services" Éomer said graciously.

"Why, yes. Please come in" Eanraig said admittedly confused as he opened the door wider to allow the tall Marshall access.

Mila stood, as did Bearnas, as Eanraig made the introductions.

"My wife, Bearnas and our Mila, the midwife you seek" She saw a momentary wave of surprise come over his features, but he recovered quickly. She knew many thought her far too young to occupy such a profession, so she had grown accustomed to that look.

"I am terribly sorry about my intrusion at such a late hour, but my men and I ride out tomorrow and I have a wound that needs some attending. The healer of the Hall has no stock of ointment, and he informed me that you might be of help, my lady" he said, addressing this last part to Mila.

"Oh, my lord! I hope the matter is not too serious?" Bearnas said, bearing an anxious face. Eanraig looked at her meaningfully, as if to say it wasn't her place to ask the nature of his wound. Bearnas being Bearnas, she ignored him.

"Nay, my lady, no need to worry. But I would prefer to ride out in a better state" he said, politely.

"I should gladly be of service, my lord. If you'll follow me, I shall see to you wound" Mila said, trying to hide her nervousness.

She led him through the main room and up the stairs that led to her quarters. Bearnas and Eanraig slept in the main bedroom downstairs, and Mila stayed in the converted loft where she kept her kit and herbs.

"I hope I don't intrude upon you too much, lady. I know this is a bit out of the ordinary" Éomer said, feeling a bit foolish now that he was here.

When he arrived, he assumed the elder woman was the midwife, having never seen her before. But this young woman was a surprise.

Setting aside her age, which was a shock in itself, he found her appearance startling. Though she had some Rohirric features, such as her strong chin, she looked altogether different from the people who resided in the lands of the Mark. Her hair, for one, was a deep shade of brown and fell in waves below her shoulders. Her skin was a darker shade, in a way that suggested it was naturally so, and not sun kissed as it was for many Rohirrim. Mostly though, it was her eyes that struck him. A dark hazel color, one that could change depending on the light and framed in an almond shape. _Perhaps she has some foreign ancestry?_ She was small, smaller than Eowyn, though her figure was slender and womanly. She made an appealing sight, that much was sure.

"Nay, my lord, do not worry yourself. I've been summoned at much later hours" she assured him, as she brought some hot water and a cloth over to the chair where he sat. She asked him to sit near the small fire in her room, so as to have better light.

As she took his wrist in her hand and began unraveling the cloth that was wrapped around his forearm, he took the time to assess her. She had a sure and deft touch, one that knew its way around sensitive wounds but could also exert necessary force if need be.

"Tsss. Tis a good thing you've come my lord, another night and you would have a nice infection here. See where the skin is streaked?"

He nodded, "Éomer" he said, and making her look up.

"I'm sorry?"

"Please, do not address me as lord. Éomer is fine" he said.

"Éomer then" she said, with a small smile and setting herself to her work.

"I need to clean this a bit, and then I'll apply some Balsam resin for the healing. It will help with the sting as well"

"Balsam? I've not heard of it. Thorsen has never made use of it to my knowledge" he said.

"It comes from the firs, in the north. I'm sure he's seen it before; there isn't much he doesn't know when it comes to healing. But it is rather hard to come by. This is some of my personal stock which I brought from my village" she said, hoping he wouldn't pursue the topic of her former home.

She was surprised that Thorsen was already suffering from low herbal stocks. She was quite fond of the older man, and had taken an immediate liking to him when they met some months before. She made a mental note to visit him tomorrow; perhaps she could provide him with a few excess herbs of her own.

The wound itself was not deep, though it looked rather nasty, as though it was caused by a blunt blade. It ran from the outer side of his wrist to the inner side of his upper forearm. As she cleansed the gash, she could tell he had applied some form of paste to stop the bleeding.

She was glad not to have to look at his face, for his presence made her nervous. He was broad shouldered and tall, and looked bloody imposing sitting in her modest room. His dark golden hair was tied back at the top, the rest of it falling to his shoulders.

Kneeling before him as his arm rested on his knee, she began applying the Balsam salve using a flat, smooth wooden instrument.

"Thorsen spoke highly of your skill. Tell me, how is it that someone so young came to be a midwife?" he asked, wishing for a bit of a distraction. Some small part of him simply wanted to hear her voice, oddly it brought him peace.

Hesitating for only a moment, Mila told him "I began my apprenticeship when I was still a girl. My mother's sister had inherited the skill from her mother, and I suppose she saw something in me, for she took me on as a student. Midwifery goes far back in my mother's line. My aunt died of fever a few years ago, so I took up her kit and became the midwife of my village in her stead"

"Your village…would that be in the Eastfold?" he asked cautiously. He knew she was not from these parts, but had a feeling the subject was painful.

Silence.

"Yes. My village was destroyed near a year ago" she said, intent on her work. She did not need to tell him at whose hands, he fought the filthy beasts on a regular basis.

"I am sorry for your loss, my lady" he said gently. So much death…

"Mila" she said, briefly looking up into his face. "If I am to call you Éomer, I would wish you to call me Mila"

Such strength she had. With nothing left, still she fought for some semblance of normalcy, for a reason to continue on. He could not help but admire her for it.

"Do you use this hand in combat?" she asked, surprising him.

"I use both. Rohirrim are trained for it" he answered. That seemed to answer her silent question, for she nodded and began to slowly wrap his arm in soft linen.

"I am wrapping it more tightly than I usually do, but it will ensure that it does not unravel with too much movement. It is fairly easy to do, and you should wrap it once more in the morning"

She had a sharp mind, this woman, for anticipating such a thing.

Once she finished her job, she stood and looked at him for a moment, uncertainty in her eyes. Looking up from his nicely bandaged arm and into her face, he noticed she was a little flushed and was fiddling with the leftover linen in her hands. _Did he make her nervous then?_

"If you'd like to go down, I'll just put some of this salve in a cloth for you to take with you" she told him.

"Thank you, Mila"

Back in the main room, Bearnas and Eanraig voiced their concern, hoping he would feel better soon.

"Oh, twas nothing, simply a gash. The lady Mila was a great help" he said respectfully.

"Our Mila's got a rare talent for such things, my lord" Bearnas beamed, as Eanraig smiled. The pride was evident on both their faces.

Mila returned, salve package in hand and Éomer bid goodnight and his thanks to the elderly couple as he made his way outside. At the door, Mila handed him the salve and he held her small hand in his much larger one, looking into her dark brown eyes.

"I hope to meet again, little midwife" a small grin tugging at the side of his mouth, so imperceptible she thought she imagined it.

She looked out until he disappeared into the night, the hand he had held hanging by her skirts. She could still feel the warmth and strength of it, even now, as the coldness of the night crept along her back and neck.

_Little midwife_. She of course knew she was smaller in stature than most women. It was something that had caused her great annoyance as a girl, a time when vanity had wormed its way into the forefront of her mind, as it does for most girls. But now she smiled at the name, liking the sound of it coming from him. Just as she had grown to like it when her brothers called her just so, as they smiled down at her with pride and love.

**Please let me know your thoughts!**


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

As he made his way towards the passage that led to his quarters, Éomer noticed a flicker of light coming from the map room. The hour was late and Éomer knew that it was Theodred who labored still, pouring over the many maps depicting Rohan's borders and mulling over strategies.

"Are they a help to you tonight, cousin?" he said, as he entered. Looking up from his work, Theodred sighed in manner that answered Éomer's question.

"Night after night I pour over these parchments, and for what? There is nothing new here, nothing but a reminder of Rohan's greatness" he said, angrily. The shadows were visible under his eyes, and his face looked haggard. They had both of then spent countless days and nights trying to find feasible strategies, sending messengers to far off lands for aid. Nothing.

"That's a tidy bandage. Did Thorsen give you a tongue lashing for coming to him at such a late hour?" Theodred said, trying to shake his earlier thoughts from his mind and noticing the linen that covered his cousin's forearm.

"Nay, he had no salve for me. He sent me to the midwife's home" he said, picking up one of the maps.

"The midwife? Ah, the foreign woman you mean?" he asked, surprised.

"Aye, you've seen her then?"

"Nay, but I've heard talk of her. The maids say she's some sort of conjure woman, but I've my doubts about that" he said.

"Hmm. People will always talk of what they have no knowledge of" he said with a shrug.

"What is she like?" Theodred asked.

"Skilled. Rohan is fortunate in her, she is very valuable" Éomer said. He wondered what her life was like here. She lost her family, he knew that much. Did she find solace in her work? Or was it a reminder of her old life?

She'd brought him peace tonight, as he sat in that dim room. It was a rare thing for him these days. There was a time when he sought the company of certain women for a night, an attempt to find solace in their arms. It wasn't uncommon for many of the unmarried riders to do so. He hadn't sought anyone out in quite some time. Somehow, it was never enough now. This Mila, with her still demeanor and gentle hands, had calmed the raging voices in his mind.

"Welcome news. Thorsen is getting along in age, and though his aides are a help, he could use another sharp mind. Béma knows we shall need all the healing hands we can get, if the raids continue in this manner" Theodred said, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.

Squeezing his cousin's shoulder, Éomer settled down to help plot their course for tomorrow.

* * *

Mila went to check in on Thorsen early the following morning, bringing her extra stores, such as sage and snakeroot.

The healing rooms were not far from the main hall and she'd only been here a few times since her arrival in Edoras.

"Many thanks, my dear. What little we have left is sad to behold. I can barely treat the common ailments" Thorsen said dejectedly after she gave him her cloth bound herbs, "It has become harder and harder to find what we need, much of the fertile land has been destroyed by the attacks. Nothing grows"

"Can I be of any help, Thorsen? I see you are without your aides today" she said after a moment. Indeed, aside from a few sleeping patients, the room was deserted.

"Aye, they've gone foraging again. Well…if you've the time, perhaps you could help me with this" he pointed to a table in the corner, near a window. Someone had begun cataloguing small vials of various substances so as to better stock them. Holding one up to the light, she could see a small, elegant script identifying it.

"I'm afraid I'm none so deft with such fine details anymore. The sight, you see" he said, with a shrug. Though he still had his health and could scold his aides with the best of them, Thorsen was coming on in years.

"Of course"

She spent the better part of the early morning cataloguing the vials, while Thorsen told her what they were and their uses. The old healer was a veritable wealth of knowledge, and while she had a few tricks herself, she was still amazed by his range of memory. It was only when her pot of ink dried up that they stopped. Offering to fetch him some more, Mila left the room using the door that led to the outside ledge of the edifice. It followed around the Great Hall, bringing her to the great steps that led to the small homesteads below.

Turning the corner, she was brought up short by a tall figure in armor, which she clumsily bumped into. Ignoring the stab of pain the metal edge of the armor had caused, she apologized to her would be victim.

Who, as it turned out, was none other than the King's son himself!

"Oh, your liege! My apologies" she said, awkwardly bending to a curtsy, her eyes downcast. Blast her, why had she not looked where she was going!

"No need, my lady. As you can see, I am adequately protected from any assault" Theodred said, his eyes twinkling.

"Lady Mila" said a surprised voice. Éomer. She did not think to see him again so soon. He walked over to them, his helmet under one arm.

"I was just on my way to the market. I am helping Thorsen today and he's run out of ink" she said rather lamely. Really, she was in the company of the finest Rohirrim warriors, son and nephew to the king respectively! Surely she could at least appear a bit more graceful, she thought.

"How is your arm this morning?" she inquired, thinking that a professional approach was decidedly safer.

"Very well. I thank you for the salve, it hardly smarts at all" he said.

"Ah, finally we are acquainted. I have heard much about your skills as a midwife. My father thanks you for your generous service" Théodred said, acutely aware of the falsity of that statement. Still, he could not afford to allow doubt and worry over who was leading his people to spread. Already, the seed had been planted among them. Better to maintain the appearance of order, rather than unleash the dam.

Excusing himself, he left to consult with Gamling before they set off.

"I…may Béma watch over you. I hope you and your men will return safely" she told Éomer, unsure of herself. What does one say to a man about to ride out and face evil? This man especially, she thought. Seeing him in full armor standing before her, she suddenly, fiercely wanted him to return whole. 'To be a shield of Rohan' she thought 'that I could protect him from further harm'

"Your words are a comfort Mila. I shall think of them when we ride out on the plains" he said, wanting to tuck a wild strand of her hair behind her ear, but checking himself.

She watched as they rode out of the gate, feeling a familiar anxiety creep up on her. How often had she seen them leave like this? How many would return?

"It never gets easier" said a feminine voice from slightly behind her. The Lady Eowyn stood there, looking out over the same bleak horizon, her blond hair standing out against her rich green gown.

"No" Mila said. She'd never met Eowyn since her arrival here.

"You are the midwife, yes?" she asked, to which Mila nodded, getting a hold of herself.

"I was just going to get a few things for the Healer. I'm helping him a bit today" she said.

"Would it trouble you if I accompanied you?"

* * *

In the end, Éowyn stayed with Mila and Thorsen through most of the afternoon, helping with the general tidying up of the healing rooms. It was a relief to do so, she could not bear to be alone with her own thoughts these days. Most of her efforts went to avoiding contact with sordid Grima. She always knew when he fixed her with his stares, a prickly sensation going up her spine.

It was a quiet business, but it gave Eowyn a chance to assess Mila. In all her young years, never had she seen such peculiar traits. Everything about her was…well darker, one could say.

She took an immediate liking to the small midwife though, finding her a very amiable companion. They were well matched in temperament, she thought. Though she had not seen her in such a state yet, she suspected the young woman every bit as stubborn as her when angry. She was no simple-minded ninny either: her status indicated that. Mila patiently answered Éowyn's every question regarding the herbs they were tying up to dry. Eowyn knew after two such questions, Thorsen would have scolded her out of the room, as he had often done when she was a child.

The day was drawing close to dusk as Mila put away the last of the crumbled herbs that would later be used in an assortment of salves. Thinking that it would be best to leave soon so as not to worry Bearnas and Eanraig, Mila was about to take her leave of the others when a clamors could be heard from the great hall, edging closer to the healing rooms. Thorsen went to the doors to see what had caused all the noise, but soon the doors burst open with a bang, a group of riders striding into the room carrying a body on a plank.

Mila stared wide-eyed as Éowyn through herself on the still form of her cousin with a cry.

Thorsen moved on the other side of him to check his wounds and pulse, but something in the way he moved told Mila he knew the same as she. She could see the large puncture wound on his lower abdomen, and knew it to be fatal.

"Theodred, I am here. Cousin, please, stay with us!" she could hear Éowyn pleading, as Éomer stood by her, his face set in stone. His control was hanging on a thread, the grief over his beloved cousin slowly spreading to his every limb.

Then suddenly, Theodred gave his last sigh as life left his body. One never thinks of it, but it does take some effort to die. She had seen it in many of the mothers who had not survived childbed. A great heave, a sign of the effort it takes to surrender the fight.

A cold draft of air made her aware of the wetness on her cheeks, the hot tears now turned cold as the stone in the hall. Wanting to leave them to grieve in peace, Mila left the room.

* * *

Bearnas and Eanraig had refused to believe her at first, but her tear filled eyes eventually convinced them. It was in unusually silent now in the household. Bearnas had taken her in a fierce embrace and they sat together in silence for some time, the reality of it sinking in.

The king's son was dead. Theodred, beloved to all of Rohan, was no more.

Wanting suddenly to be alone sometime later, Mila went outside and settled herself on the stony ledge that overlooked the plains, where she sat for quite some time. The sun was beginning its descent in the horizon, and she dreaded its departure. The wind, usually so strong in Edoras, barely made the loose tendrils of her hair move. Perhaps it sensed death, and was paying its respects.

Only a few knew of what had transpired, but the news would likely travel fast the next day. Her heart went out to Éowyn and her brother. She was all too familiar with the pain that came from losing family. The crushing weight on her chest, the dull ache in her mind, how even the faintest trace of light hurt her eyes. How she wished she could spare them from it.

The sound of a horse's neigh reached her from a distance, and she turned to see where it came from. He slid down his saddle with the grace of one who has done it a thousand times and more, and strode over to where she now stood. Confused, Mila looked into Éomer's face, trying to understand why he was here and not helping in the preparation of Theodred's funeral rites. As his cousin and brother in arms, she knew it would be his desire to do it. Then she noticed a small contingent of guards waiting near her stone dwelling, looking stonily in their direction. Down below, she could see riders assembling near the gate, fully armored.

"Mila listen to me. I am banished, and haven't much time" His words did not register in her mind at first, sounding too absurd to be true.

"How can this be?" she demanded, regaining her composure. Surely he was mistaken.

"By order of the king" he said bitterly, angrily. Suddenly, Éowyn's words from earlier in the afternoon rang in her ears. _The king no longer inhabits that body _she had said. The bitterness that had showed on her face was now mirrored in her brother's.

"Can you fight?" he asked hastily, gripping her arms.

"I…not well, my lord" Her brothers had begun teaching her a few years ago, but it was mostly in jest, as they assured her she would never have any need of such skills. How innocent those times were…

He reached for his leather chest plate, pulling out a fierce looking dagger. Though the handle was simple, the eight inch blade looked sharp and deadly to her eyes.

"Keep this with you at all times. If you ever need to use it, don't try and aim for the heart. Strike either here, into the liver" he said placing the hilt of it on her lower abdomen "but be sure to aim at an angle, if you aim to high the blade will hit the bone. If you can, aim for the throat, but only if you can get at it from the side" again he placed the hilt of the dagger on that part of her anatomy.

"Pull the blade from one side to the other, the skin there is sinewy, so put your strength into it" he finished, leaving her a little dazed and wondering if he truly thought she would need to use this new found knowledge.

"Mila! Do you remember what I've told you?" he demanded roughly, gripping her upper arms with a shake, answering her unvoiced question. His tone shook her from her shock.

"Yes" she said immediately. His whole being seemed to be one furious nerve, threatening to snap at the slightest touch.

"Please look after my sister. You are the only person she can trust now" he said, as she nodded.

"Éomer…" she said at a loss for words. What could she say that could bring him any ease at all?

His harsh face softened a bit, hearing his name on her lips.

"I would have liked to see you smile, little midwife" his voice low and hoarse. How he wished he had known her in happier times, was the unspoken thought.

He kissed her then, his lips taking hers in a fierce embrace. There was nothing tender about it, she thought dimly, somewhere in the recess of her mind still capable of cognitive thought. It was desperate, almost fatalistic; the kiss of man who was never to return. A man who cared not if it was selfish and wanted to steal some part of her for his own use.

Selfish he was not however, for she took as much as he. Meeting his kiss with equal fervor, she could feel the prickle of his beard on her skin, his slightly chapped lips against her own, the result of long weeks of riding into the wind.

In an instant he was gone, the hand that had been braced in her hair leaving her suddenly cold. She stared at his retreating back as he walked passed the guard and down to his horse. At the front of the cottage, Bearnas and Eanraig looked on in utter confusion and shock.

Leading his riders, those who were still loyal to him and Rohan, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark left Edoras, banished from his own home.

**Reviews immensely appreciated!**


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

During the day following Éomer's unexpected departure, Mila devoted herself to keeping busy. Never stopping for any long period of time, she worked all day, pounding dry herbs and preparing treatments, throwing herself into the chores of daily life with renewed intensity. Anything to still the dull ache in her stomach, to keep her thoughts from the darkness of Meduseld. From the growing sorrow in Bearnas and Eanraig's eyes.

From him.

She could not- _would not_- allow it. And so she worked. She kept her word and looked in on Éowyn, with whom she began to develop a kinship. It pained Mila to see the sorrow in her eyes, for she was not only bereft of her king and cousin, but now her brother as well.

Ever since the evening Éomer had given her the dagger, Mila was overcome with a powerful sense of anticipation. She did not know why exactly, but suddenly it seemed that replenishing her kit and stock was a matter of great urgency. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes, or the ever increasing threat of the shadow, but something drove her to it. Somehow, she knew she would soon need every remedy she had.

* * *

She sat in the Hall's healing room, folding linens she had recently boiled and cut into strips. Thorsen had gone down to the lower levels of the city to see to a recent patient of his and she was alone in the room. Éowyn was sitting with Theodred's body, grieving him as his father should grieve him.

The sound of quarreling voices jerked her from her task. With a moment's hesitation, Mila stood and went out, through the narrow corridor that led to the Hall, making sure to stay out of sight.

She saw four newcomers, standing before King Théoden, who looked them over with a weary, detached expression. Walking from the king's dais was the foul mouthed and pale faced Grima Wormtongue. The sight of him made her clench her teeth in anger. There had been rumors throughout the city as to what true role Grima played in the king's court. His authority had steadily increased in the past years in a manner that was extremely suspect.

As a midwife, her status never really required her to travel to the hall, much less hold an audience with the king. But seeing him now, so withered and frail, took everything in her power to stifle her gasp.

"Late, is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. _Lathspell, _I name him. Ill-news is an ill-guest", said Grima nastily, as he slowly made his way to the white haired man in the hall. _Gandalf the Grey_. Mila had of course heard of the many stories about him, but having spent her childhood in a remote village and away from Edoras, she had never seen him.

Behind him stood a dark haired man she did not recognize and another whose face held such ethereal beauty that she was certain he must be one of the Elves. Amazed, she took in the smaller figure of a stout, heavily bearded fellow who wore heavy armor. 'He can't possibly…a dwarf?' she wondered, thinking that her eyes deceived her. All her life, she heard tales of such races, and here they stood before her eyes. Her father would never have believed it!

"Be silent!" exclaimed the old man, contempt evident in his face as he loomed over Grima. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm" he said, suddenly raising his white staff, much to Grima's horror.

"His staff…I told you to take the wizard's staff!" he exclaimed, backing away from this sudden threat. The guards surged forth, confusion evident in their movements, and tried to subdue the strangers. The man, elf and dwarf thwarted any attempt they made to intercept a rapidly approaching Gandalf.

"Theoden, son of Thengel! Too long have you sat in the shadows. Hearken to me!"

The fight had slowed, and all of those in the hall were suddenly immersed in the proceedings on the king's dais. Mila had stepped out of the narrow hall by now; unable to keep away from what would happen.

"I release you from this spell" said Gandalf, raising his palm in Theoden's direction.

The sound that came from the king's lips sent a chill through her entire body. From another, it might have been considered a laugh, but not him. This could not possibly be her king! Rohan's king!

"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!" said a triumphant voice.

In an instant, the whole room seemed aflame with a white light. She was shocked to discover, once her sight came back to her, that the light came from none other than Gandalf himself.

"I will draw you Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound" said a very intimidating Gandalf the White.

She watched as Theoden's body writhed as though fighting some internal battle, Gandalf looming ever closer.

Éowyn's sudden appearance made Mila move forward, her instinct willing the golden haired woman to wait. Painful as the proceedings looked, she found herself wanting it to continue. 'He will bring him back' said a voice within her. She was not alone in this, for the dark haired man now restrained Éowyn.

"If I go, Theoden dies" said the decrepit man, proving to all that their king was lost in the magical grasp of another.

"You did not kill me! You will not kill him"

"Rohan is mine!"

"Be gone" commanded Gandalf, thrusting his staff forwards. The king let out a roar, and suddenly slumped forward in his seat. Groaning pitifully, he fell forwards onto the stone floor and Éowyn ran to him in time to stop his fall.

Mila watched, entranced, as her king-the rightful king- appeared before them all.

"I know your face..." he whispered "Éowyn" he said slowly.

"Éowyn" certainty flowing into his voice.

And so it was, that Rohan's king returned from the shadows, freed from the clutches of Saruman.

* * *

Theodred was buried the next day, finally put to rest with his father's fathers. She could remember every instance as though it was occurring before her eyes, even now. The high, bright glare of the sun, as though mocking them all. For how could even the sun, ever a sign of warmth and joy, dare show his face on such a day?

She could still hear the wail of the women, draped in black and hues of midnight blue. Bearnas' shoulders as they shook beneath her hands. Éowyn's broken voice as she sung the dirge.

_Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended  
giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende on Meduselde..._

Theoden King, solemnly doing for his son what no father should. Sad were the days of Rohan now.

* * *

Mila stayed away from Meduseld for the days following Theoden's burial. She knew Éowyn would want to spend as much time as she could with her uncle-for this man was indeed her uncle now- and did not wish to intrude. She also knew that the hall would be used for the king's council, for that was what the contingent of Wizard, Man, Elf and Dwarf was. They were his only council now. She only hoped they had good news to offer.

"Mila?",Eanraig's voice interrupted her musings. Béma, it seemed she was always lost in her own thoughts these days!

He looked at her inquiringly, and she realized he must have asked her for something. She had come with him to the royal stables, for he was asked to fix a pen door which would not latch properly. It was a job that required one to evaluate the level of the bottom of the door while also strengthening the door hinges. Not wanting him to injure his back with the back and forth movement, she had accompanied him.

"I'm sorry, I was distracted" she said, apologetically.

"No worries dear. If you could just tell me when the door no longer touches the ground…" he said, and she quickly did so.

It was only a few moments later and the door was swinging as easily as the first day it was built. Using a small brush, Eanraig finished the job by adding more grease to the joints as Mila put his tools in his satchel.

"Is it the Marshall that troubles you?" he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Surprised, she took her time to gather her thoughts, but he spoke before she could answer.

"Lord Éomer is a most capable man, Mila. He'll be fine, and now that the king is well again, the exile statute will be lifted" he said assuredly, eyes intent on his work.

She only nodded, not correcting him, for he had misunderstood her silence. It was better to let him think it was only Éomer's absence that troubled her, rather than worry him with everything else. They had seen him come to her that fateful day on the ledge, when he kissed her. While she did worry for him and wonder if she would ever see him again, she knew darker times were ahead.

Having lived their whole lives within the protective gates of Edoras, Bearnas and Eanraig had no true notion of the atrocities that plagued so much of their land. Of course, they had seen the state of the refugees that came to the city, most notably her own when she had come to them. But that was a mere fragment of it all. Mila had seen the worst, and the memory of it would never leave her.

She would not inflict the same on these warm, loving people who had given her a home and called her daughter. She took comfort in their innocence, in their ignorance of Arda's evils.

As they left the stables, Mila saw Emina, the blacksmith's wife on the other side of the path.

"Oh, I must go speak with Emina for a moment. I shall see you at home, alright?" she said, already beginning to cross the street as he nodded.

Emina was a tall woman, with slightly darker hair than Éowyn and a pleasant countenance. She was looking at some woven baskets on display, while her little daughter clutched at her skirts.

"Be still, _hwon nieten_!" Emina said, trying to shake herself free from her jittery offspring.

"It won't be long now, you'll have a sister to torment instead of your mother, little Matie" said Mila, with a smile at the girl. Though she always clung to her mother, she was the spitting image of her father.

Emina turned towards her, hand now resting on her swollen belly. Mila was happy to see that Emina's face had regained its fullness and color. She'd suffered from severe morning sickness until not long ago, and her slim figure had worried Mila.

"Aye, let's hope she'll be more patient than I" Emina said, with an exasperated look down.

"How is she moving?" Mila asked, putting down her kit and placing her hands on the high, full mound.

Emina snorted, "More than a jumpy colt!"

"Good, that's good. Your time is near; you feel how low the baby lays?"

"Aye. I was wondering if maybe you have something to soothe the joints? I've tried white birch oil, but my hands and ankles still pain me" she said, extending a hand. The knuckles were swollen and slightly red, and Mila assumed the same was true for her ankles.

"Hmm. The oil doesn't always work. The root must be harvested young for the oil to be potent enough. Yarrow flowers should help with this. I'll come by later and bring you some" Mila promised.

Walking back up the main road past the stables, she spotted Gandalf the White standing near the entrance, looking at her with a small smile on his lips.

"You have gifted hands, young midwife" he said, starting her. He must have been watching her for some time.

"How…?" she began, wanting to know how he knew who she was.

"It's been some time since I last saw the midwife's mark, but I am glad to see it now" he said, nodding to her bag.

How he knew what the symbol there meant, she had no idea. Just as the skill had been passed down through generations of women in her family, so had this midwife's kit. A simple bag made of well worn and pale leather, it held all her tools and herbs. On the flap, though less visible after generations of use, was a simple, small etched marking: a circle within a circle.

_See how the circle is unbroken, Mila? And the smaller circle within? That is the life from a life…it is our calling to see that the circle remains whole, alive…_

She could still hear her aunt's words, as she sat with the bag on her lap, her small hands tracing the two circles…

"There was a time when I rode through these lands often" he said, motioning for her to follow him inside the stables, "A time when Rohan was ripe with the promise new life, rather than the constant threat of death" He stopped by a stall where a beautiful white stallion stood. She'd never seen anything so magnificent, and she a native from the land of the horse lords!

"To see that someone still upholds the ways of your ancestors gives me hope" he said, walking to the other side of the horse.

"Hope? What hope can I offer, when all that surrounds us is death and decay?" she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. Gandalf looked at her seriously, his face calm and composed.

"My dear, you offer hope by following your calling. Like the healer Thorsen, what you do reminds everyone that life must continue, that although the times grow darker by the moment, we must not give up until all our efforts are spent" he said, placing his hand on hers, where it rested on the horse's pristine coat.

"The people of Rohan will need you Mila, Bringer of Life" he said softly, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, after a moment.

"Yes, my own duty calls me away, to a task of utmost importance" he said, leading the horse forward and mounting it in a manner most graceful for a man his age.

With a final smile in her direction, he tore from the stables in a flurry of coats, leaving her, once again, alone with her thoughts.

**Firstly, I would like to thank those of you who are following this story. Much obliged! And now for a few reference notes:**

**The lyrics to the dirge sung by Éowyn (which I have always found so haunting in the film TTT) are, from what I could find, roughly translated as follows:**

_**'An evil death has set forth the noble warrior  
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels in Meduseld...'**_

**They were actually taken from the text **_**Beowulf **_

**The term **_**hwon nieten**_** used by Emina means 'Little beast', which I was able to concoct using a wonderful site that contains the most extensive English-Rohirric dictionary I have ever encountered! **

**Lastly, the symbol on Mila's bag is a Germanic fertility symbol I found, which I thought rather fitting since Tolkien wrote his works using Germanic inspiration, among others. **


	5. Chapter V

**Chapter V**

"By order of the King, the city must empty! We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep!"

And so it was that the great city of Edoras saw the forced exodus of its people, young and old. The fear and worry was palpable among the people who now made ready to leave. Mila worried for Bearnas and Eanraig, for although they were not so old yet, the walk to Helm's Deep was no small feat. Having helped them with their meager packs, she left them at the cottage to go and help Thorsen with his supplies.

His aides were scurrying about the room, trying to get everything they needed ready and quarreling over what they would take with them and what they would leave behind. It was not clear exactly what they would face once they arrived, but Thorsen said they should bring all that they could. Who knew how long they would remain at Helm's Deep.

"Don't forget the garlic, Alaric! And be certain that they've brought enough of the fine thread!" Thorsen barked, stopping one of the men as Mila approached.

"Yes, Thorsen" he said, turning to do just that.

"What else do you need?" she asked, tugging up the sleeves of her dress.

"Time. More time is what I need!" he said, angrily. He wearily brushed a hand over his eyes, letting out his breath in a rush.

"You can only do your best, Thorsen" she said, placing her hand on his arm gently. She knew how empty her words were, for she felt the same as he. But one had to try.

* * *

The stronghold of Helm's Deep was an impressive sight to behold, though Mila thought its massive stone walls and rocky rises made it a rather dark place. Looking around her, as she stood in the deepest recess of the bastion, she could see small families huddled together, the children looking for comfort in the arms of their sisters, mothers, grandmothers. For there were few men here now, as all those capable of bearing arms had been taken above. Down to the last boy. Eanraig had left as well, and though Bearnas tried to put on brave face, Mila knew that it was tearing her up inside.

It is folly to outrun war, Mila thought dimly. But she had tried as well. Deep in the corner of her mind she thought that such a thing might still be possible.

Éowyn sat with her and Bearnas, her face set in a steely expression. Mila knew that even now, as the deep rumbles of the fight above echoed on the walls of the cave, Éowyn was restless with the knowledge that she could not fight alongside her uncle.

"Be ready, Mila. Should Rohan be victorious here, there will be many wounded. I will need you by my side" said Thorsen, now standing before her. Being Edoras's senior healer, he was exempt from the fight also. Nodding, she went with him to the wall of the cave nearest to the entrance, where his aides were making preparations.

* * *

_Early Morning, On the Day Before the Battle of Helm's Deep_

Éomer sat alone, having awoken just before dawn. The sun was slowly making its ascent, chasing away the lingering darkness of the night. The camp was slowly coming to life, his men waking from their restless sleep. Indeed, the past days had lain heavy on their hearts.

As he made to strap his arm guards into place, Éomer saw the pinkish streak of newly healed flesh on his forearm. It had healed well, the small scar fading day by day. The image of small, darker skinned hands against his own sunburned skin came to his mind unbidden. He had made a conscious effort not to think of her of late, for she was another regret, another reminder of a past best left forgotten. Yet still her face came to him late at kiss he had taken from her was not enough. She surprised him that day, when after a brief moment of shock she had kissed him back with equal fervor. The memory of it brought a small smile to his lips.

Having been raised and trained as a warrior, it was a life he knew well. But now, he wished he was away from it all. For a moment, he wished he was locked in a dimly lit room with her where he could get a glimpse of who she was.

Does she know how to ride? If so, does she revel in it, as he does? What was she like as a girl? What was her family like? What does she feel, when she delivers a child to a mother?

He wished he knew what her skin would feel like on his, how her body would feel like beneath him. He wished he knew what sounds she would make, when he buried himself within her.

Foolish thoughts, really. He shouldn't torture himself this way.

"Éomer! A white rider approaches!" yelled one of his men who had been put on the morning guard. He stood and looked to where the guard motioned, ready to call his men to arms should this prove to be a threat.

For a moment, he thought his eyes deceived him.

"Gandalf" he said, disbelieving.

* * *

A victory. A victory for Rohan. The cheers had been deafening and one could hear women praising thanks to Béma for such a glorious outcome.

Mila had not seen much of this, as she had hurriedly followed Thorsen and his aides up to the large hall in the keep where the injured were being laid out. So many dead. So many lives sacrificed.

Their work had begun immediately, Thorsen taking charge of the triage as the rest of them began assessing the injured men. Mila had taken on one side of the room, where a number of men lay on the ground while others stood or helped the lesser mobile ones.

Dimly, Mila realized that, as in childbirth, the passing of time seems suspended when one is dealing with such mass casualties. One cannot afford to take too much time to assess the enormity of the task, but can only take it one injury at a time. She surely would have been overwhelmed had she done otherwise. So she continued on, working and tending with such focus that she seemed almost detached from everything around her.

The room was constantly in movement, hectic with the bustle of healers and women who had come to help from the caves below. She thought she had seen Bearnas helping a man drink some water, but she couldn't be certain. The groans of pain seemed louder because of the high ceiling, and once in a while the air was cut with a piercing scream as a bone was reset or a deep wound was cleansed.

The floor was wet with a mixture of water and blood, seeping into the cracks between the stones. Various pieces of armor lay strewn on the floor amidst a sea of bloodied bandages. Unharmed soldiers stayed at the side of those who suffered, lending support here, restraining there. She could hear Thorsen barking out orders on the other side of the room. Her own name had been called out so many times by women needing her assistance with an injured man or asking her what they should do with certain wounds.

This was their battle, their war.

She heard various men recount the recent events to those who lay injured, trying to get their spirits up. She heard Éomer's name often, said in such praise and admiration. She had not the time to rejoice in his arrival, but sent silent thanks up to Béma. She had not seen him here, which made her glad. If he was not here, it meant he was not injured.

"Make room! I have a boy here! I need help!" yelled a man, carrying the barely conscious form of a boy who could not be older than sixteen summers. Motioning for the man to lay him down on some blankets on the floor, Mila hid her dismay when she saw the extent of his injury. His neck had been severely sliced on one side, and his entire right side was covered in fresh red blood. Moving the man's hand from the wound, more blood surged forth, covering her own hand with its slick warmth as she put pressure there. Risking a quick glance at the man who had brought him in, she saw the same grim resignation on his face that she felt.

"Mother?" said a pained, weak voice. His eyes were barely opened and his strength was quickly leaving his body. She gently pulled his head onto her lap, careful to keep her hand where it was on his neck.

"Yes love. Everything is going to be alright" she said, forcing the tremor from her voice as she gently passed a bloodied hand over his hair. His face still had that boyish look about it. She stayed like that for some time, not looking at the man who held the boy's hand in his. She held his head in her lap until she felt the telltale slackening of his body as the life left him.

"My lady?" said the man gently, forcing her to look at him. She surrendered the boy's body to him and drew the back of her hand over her forehead, pushing her hair back. There was more work to be done.

For almost two days, she did not sleep and only ate when someone else reminded her to. Her wool overdress was stained in blood, and the skirts of her long, linen under tunic were tattered after she had ripped strips at the bottom for makeshift bandages. It was late into the night, and things had somewhat settled. The most critical of injuries had been seen to and now all that was left was the general nursing of pains, which was being done by the women and the men who weren't gathering the bodies of their fallen brothers.

She had forced Thorsen to go and get some rest some time ago, when she had spied him swaying from weariness.

"Has the bleeding stopped?" she asked, coming to where an older woman was changing a sleeping man's bandage.

"Aye, not long ago. He's been asleep through most of it" she answered, taking in Mila's appearance.

"Lady Mila, you'll do us no good if you fall over from exhaustion. Go, rest. Now," the woman said forcefully. Mila protested, saying that she had more salve to make, but the woman would have none of it. She decided it was better not to take it further, as the woman had an obstinate look about her.

She had found a bench that was pushed against the stone wall at the end of the small hall, and resting her head on the wall she closed her eyes for the first time in days.

* * *

After enjoying a brief but overjoyed reunion with his sister and uncle, Éomer had gone to the hall where the injured were being tended to. Making the rounds, he spoke a few words with those still awake, thanking them for their loyal service. It made him proud to see that Rohan still had a fight in it yet.

He thought she would be here, but as he walked around the large room, he did not see her. Stopping one of the women, he inquired if she had seen the dark haired woman.

"You mean the lady Mila, my lord? Aye, I sent her to her rest not long ago. For days, she's been tending the wounded and not sitting for a moment. That lass is too stubborn for her own good!" the woman said, demonstrating that Mila was not the only stubborn woman in the room.

He found her sleeping on a bench, sitting upright with her head resting on the stone. Though her dress was covered in stains and her hair was knotted, the sight of her warmed his heart.

She had attempted to remove her overdress, which was ruined beyond repair now. He could see that the laces at the front were undone, one of her hands clutching at the string as it lay on her thigh.

Gently, he picked her up and walked to a corner of the great room, laying her down on a few free blankets. She slowly awoke and it took her some time to recognize him, dim as it was.

"Éomer?" she said, uncertain. Her voice was low and slightly scratchy from sleep and her time spent yelling orders in the past days.

"Aye, little midwife," he whispered, as he slowly removed her overdress, leaving her in her under tunic.

He heard her sigh, the relief evident.

"You're alright?" she asked, sitting up a little and leaning back on the wall.

"Yes" he answered, bringing a small metal bowl of hot water over with a cloth.

"Éomer", she said sternly, not believing him. He sighed.

"Alright, my shoulder is a bit stiff. Would you cease woman!" he said gruffly when she tried to sit up to look at said shoulder. Here she was, half dead with exhaustion and she still had to have her way! he thought. It was a good thing his own stubbornness equaled hers, else he would have to resort to calling that older woman over.

She opened her mouth to retort but was cut off as he began wiping her face with the cloth. Shocked, she closed her mouth and let him stubbornly do what he wanted. Appeased, Éomer wiped away the small streaks of blood near her hairline, the result of her moving her hair away from her face.

Putting the cloth back in the bowl, he rolled the filthy sleeves of her shift up her arms. He picked the cloth up, wringing it of excess water, and proceeded to do much the same thing to her arms.

Closing her eyes, Mila could not withhold her sigh of contentment at the glorious warmth that was slowing seeping into her skin. She was so tired that she could no longer bring herself to protest.

Éomer was intent on his task, gently removing any trace of blood and felt a wave of pride for this woman. She had worked tirelessly to save as many as she possible could, had thrown herself into this mess of death and gore and had done so selflessly. Many owed their lives to her; he thought, as he tried to wash the blood from under her fingernails.

"I am glad you are here" her voice brought his face back to hers. He smiled a little, though she likely couldn't see it.

"As am I, little midwife" he said, brushing her dark hair behind her ear, as he had longed to do that day on the steps. Knowing she was already asleep, he pulled the blanket over her and after a moment of observing the steady rise and fall of her breathing, left to rejoin his uncle.

* * *

The sight of Edoras, so resplendent set against the mountains behind it, brought comfort to all. Eanraig had not suffered any injuries during the battle, thank Béma, but he was quite tired as a result. Bearnas fussed over him constantly, and it was not rare to find him roll his eyes towards the sky, which made Mila smile.

They arrived in the late afternoon, and after a few hours of putting things in order and generally basking in the joy of finally being home, the three of them went to the hall of Meduseld. The king held a festivity to both celebrate Rohan's victory and honor the dead, and all the people of Edoras were in attendance. To see so many people in this once cold and desolate hall filled her with warmth.

"Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!" said the king, as everyone stood to pay their respects. Behind him stood Éowyn on his right and Éomer on his left.

"Hail!" her voice rang out with the rest, as everyone raised their glasses.

The evening was reminiscent of a past where such festivities would have occurred often, at the summer and winter celebrations perhaps. Mila had never seen them of course, but there was a certain nostalgia in the air tonight, as though all those present were reminded of such times.

"Mila, come, my uncle wishes to see you", Éowyn said, appearing at her side. Mila had been watching the hobbits Merry and Pippen as they delighted everyone with dances and songs from the Shire.

"Your-you mean the King?" she asked, the nervous knots returning to her stomach.

"Who else could I mean?" Éowyn said exasperatedly, her face flushed from smiling.

Before she knew, Mila was being led by the arm through the crowd to the end of the hall, near the steps that led to the king's dais. She could see Thorsen speaking with Théoden, standing tall in his best tunic made of fine blue wool. Next to him were the other healers under Thorsen's tutelage. Mila glanced quickly down at her self, wondering if she was adequately dressed to meet the king. She wore a dress made of green linen with cream detailing on the sleeves and bodice. She supposed it would have to do.

"Uncle, this is the lady Mila. She is the midwife I spoke of" Éowyn said.

Unsure of herself, Mila smiled and bowed her head in respect.

"Mila was a tremendous help at Helm's Deep, milord. With so few fully trained healers, she proved quite indispensable" Thorsen said, looking at her with a small smile. For his part, Thorsen was immensely proud of the young woman standing before them. He knew that while she had undoubtedly dealt with a number of emergencies as a midwife, she likely had never encountered casualties on the scale they had seen at Helm's Deep. But she dealt with it well, showing a remarkable calm in light of the situation. Having seen a good many years in his old age, he knew that tending to war injuries was a most gruesome business, one that could leave even the most seasoned of healers thoroughly overwhelmed. Her integrity and natural ability to coolly assess situations had been a great help to him.

"I thank you for your invaluable service, Mila. My heart rests easier, knowing Thorsen is so well assisted" the King said kindly.

"It was an honor my lord, to serve the Riders of Rohan" she answered, feeling absurdly self-conscious with so many eyes on her.

"I am glad to call you friend Mila. What you did for the men at the keep was admirable" Éowyn said, once the small crowd had dispersed.

"Thank you Éowyn. Truly though, I think perhaps you misunderstand. I do not wish to call attention to myself by saying this, but it was no act of courage" she said, holding up a hand as Éowyn started to interrupt.

"What I do as midwife, what Thorsen does as a healer, it is a calling. A duty that we cannot ignore. I cannot turn away from it, just as our Rohirrim cannot turn away from defending their people" she explained as she shrugged. Éowyn looked at her curiously for a moment, then motioned for them to walk over to a pillar where there were less people.

"Éowyn, your own actions were no less admirable", Mila said gently. She saw frustration pass over the fair skinned woman's eyes. Mila had grown accustomed to reading Éowyn's face in their time together, and she knew her friend wished she could have taken part in the battle. She was not a woman to be locked away from the fight.

"Not for a Shield Maiden of Rohan" she said, looking out into the crowd.

"I may have been in Edoras for only a short while, but from what I can gather, a Shield Maiden's duty is to see to the safeguarding of her people. That is exactly what you did, Éowyn" she said firmly. "The people of Rohan were bereft of their King and looked to you for leadership. You gave them that, when you led them to safety. You are a pillar of strength for them"

"How can you not see the pride in your uncle's eyes? In your brother's eyes? You bring honor to the house of Eorl, my lady" she said, grasping her friend's shoulder.

Éowyn smiled at Mila's use of the formal title and nodded. She had spent her life in the company of men, as her mother had died when she was still young. How good it was, to be able to speak with a woman so, she thought.

"Sister, I believe Master Gimli was looking for you" said a deep voice from behind them.

"Was he? Excuse me Mila" she said.

"I warn you, he has made himself well acquainted with Rohan's finest ale" he said, a glint in his eye.

"And? If you recall, brother, I am well acquainted with the drinking habits of Rohan's finest riders" she said with a raised brow, making Éomer laugh.

Mila had never heard him laugh, and she found she loved the sound of it. He wore a tunic and vest made of rich green and brown material, over dark breeches. She had almost always seen him in armor, and so was surprised to find that the broad shoulders and strong back were as intimidating without it. When she had awoken that morning at Helm's Deep, she was convinced she had dreamt of him gently washing away the traces of the days spent tending the wounded. It was only when she noticed her that her hands were clean that she realized it wasn't.

"I was about to step outside for a moment. Will you join me?" he asked, looking down at her for he was much taller.

"I will" she answered, glad for a moment away from the stifling warmth of the crowd. She followed him through the adjacent hall, the one that led to the healing rooms, and out the door at the end, so that they stood on the small stone terrace overlooking Edoras.

Taking a breath as the fresh air cooled her face, she once again marveled at the sight of the mountains in the distance.

"It seems not long ago, I thought it a silly dream to see Edoras so alive" Éomer said. Indeed the music and laughter from the hall could be heard outside, and one could hear some of the older children playing in the streets.

"Your people are strong. They will not give up so easily" she said, looking up at him and relishing in the fact that he was there, whole and alive. He returned the look, intent with so many things left unsaid.

"I thought of you often, little midwife" he said softly. She closed her eyes as she felt a weight lift from her chest, suddenly realizing that she had longed to hear him say those words.

_She thought I would forget her_, Éomer thought as he took in her relief. A small smile came to his lips at the thought that this sweet, strong creature might actually return his feelings.

Mila opened her eyes as she felt his warmth draw close to her, looking up into his warm brown eyes. He began gently tracing her cheek, letting a calloused thumb lightly draw over her full lips. She placed her hand on his chest, not in protest but rather to feel the warmth of him, the steady, strong beat of his heart. As though making sure he was really there.

Drawing her closer to him, he rest his forehead against hers as his other hand slid over the small of her back. Never had anyone brought him such peace simply by being near him.

"Lady Mila!" A voice resounded in the hall that led to the ledge where they stood. Éomer exhaled in frustration, and Mila gently squeezed his hand in hers, which made him smile.

Drawing away from him, she made to go and see what the commotion was about, but Erich, the blacksmith, appeared before her, face drawn with worry.

"Lady Mila! It's Emina, the babe is coming!" he said, with all the anxiety of a man about to have a second child.

Reassuring him with the practiced manner of a woman who had seen her fare share of flustered men, she looked over her shoulder at Éomer, who shook his head as a grin came onto his face.

She gave him one last heartening smile, and then left to help bring a new life into Rohan.

**Many thanks to all the kind words! I will try and sustain a fairly regular pace regarding updates, but I cannot promise anything, with the semester advancing as it is:P **


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